I hail from the film world. Something I've discovered is most moviegoers tend to forget after a film ends that all those names in the credits are actual human beings. It's easy to think of them as shadow people. After all, most of us will never have the chance to meet them, nor ask what it was like to work on such productions.  
  I've found books to be much the same. Truth be told, I used to skip straight to the story, rather than look at the credits page. 
   Now I know better. 
  In preparing Salted for its release, I've been blessed with an amazing team of talented individuals and their unique talents. You'll meet them soon enough in future posts. Today, I have a most special treat for you.   She claims her name to be Annetta Ribken. That's a lie though. Her real identity is an editing goddess come down from Olympus to take pity on this poor wretch. 
  Seriously.  If/when Salted takes off, you should all be sending Annetta a thank you for how she transformed my feeble words into a bestseller. 

  Here’s the great part of being Dad to a little girl: I can now publicly admit to sitting through animated Disney movies. None of you guys can give me any flack for this either because...well...daughter. Plus, any Dads who say you’ve never done the same for your little girl are liars. Just sayin’.
  Now, this is not to say I’m raising a little wannabe princess who, like Anna in Frozen, believes she’ll meet a guy and become engaged in the same night. 
  Meh.

What are you doing here?  You should be at Steampunk Sparrow's Book Blog reading this, and this at Ricki Wilson's Indie Spotlight.

P.S.-As long as you're here, you might as well sign up for the newsletter. Never know when I might decide to do a giveaway. (Hint: It's just below my profile picture).

   Lenny Dolan never asked for a Salted life. No one smart ever did. 
   But unlike those poor wretches stolen from the surface and dragged into the depths, Lenny didn’t have anything with which to compare his Salt existence. Born in the realm beneath the waves, he knew of no other life until his owner raised him up and gave him a profession.
   None of Lenny’s fellow catchers bothered to stir when he woke screaming from a night terror, two hours past. Each recognized the cries associated with guilt’s icy stabs, and the shaded memories of those they hauled back into lives of Salt slavery. 

   I feel like I’ve written this a thousand times already in the comments section, Facebook, phone calls, etc. but I am truly humbled by the support you all have shown me. The fabulous Miss Molly Jones called me out the other day though. Said I should’ve expected more than three of you to read my last post. I admit it. You were right, Molly. I did expect more than three readers.
   I expected four. ;)
   A couple of you have asked me what the events leading up to this past Friday were like, so here it is: an inside peek of the big cover reveal.
   First, it in no way resembled what I envisioned in the years leading up to it. Ha.